What's in a Name?
by Mortal Anonymous
Summary: As a colt, Stygian has a bit of a struggle coming to terms with his name and the rather foreboding subject it's attached to.


Stygian.

It was a name the small, frail grey colt it was given to had hated in his first few years of life.

As a naturally curious young one, he had asked if the name had had any special meaning from his parents, and they had told him easily about how it was synonymous with pitch darkness. Living in a time where long-lasting light sources were not common and unicorn magic was not powerful enough to light the night for extended journeys, the darkness was just another part of life. True, it was to be diligently respected, as many dangers used it to hide, but to Stygian's parents, that did not make it something to fear.

But Stygian hated it.

As light and assuring as the word of his parents was, Stygian still could not help fearing the dark. Dancing shadows, unknown lurkers. His imagination would run wild in the dead of night. Even more he hated when he discovered that his name also shared a relation to a mythical river that ferried the souls of the dead, branding him as a being related to the underworld. He wondered why his parents had never opted to favor _that _definition.

It only worsened the dreadful images his mind could produce.

It was also true that during the day, the colt was fond of a cozy corner inside a library with no windows or a study with just the same, but this was always with a large, bright candle or a lantern by which to do schoolwork or lose himself in the fascination gaining knowledge brought him. He was never unprepared without backups to illuminate his surroundings.

When the moon rose, however, he was helpless. He could not sleep by firelight, for it was a hazard. Every night, when the last lantern pony had snuffed the only source of light entering from outside Stygian's small window in the clay wall of his cottage, the scrawny foal would be thrust into the pitch blackness he was named for, left to will himself to sleep under eyelids just as worryingly dark. He felt vulnerable under those eyelids, like anything he imagined would have no trouble slipping in through the shadows and doing anything it wished to himself or his family. Absolute shadow, he could not handle.

A fair few times he had been unable to best his thoughts, and had run to his parents for comfort, which they gave, but alongside weary remarks that he was far too old for this nonsense and needed to learn to fend off his own fears.

Stygian did try.

Known for being scholarly in school, he did not have many other foals he could turn to for advice, for while they played he read, but the colt was not disliked in this small, tight-knit community. Other foals told him they'd convinced their parents to give _them _a candle at night, or they had a mantra they could recite, a song to sing; fellow unicorns even recommended to practice holding his own magic spell for light while he fell asleep. The concentration and effort would distract him and tire him out all the faster. Some still did tell him that he was a filly for still being scared of the dark and that he should just stallion up to get over it, though.

Teachers would offer him consultation as well, encouraging him to rest well to nourish his gifted brain.

Stygian appreciated all the advice, but none of it worked. He was not exceptional at anything beyond study, particularly magic, so even using a spell was little more than a tense timer as he strained to fight his horn as it fizzled out, throwing him into that inky nothingness once again. It was torture.

Then, one night, he swore he could sense something in the dark. Something alive. Something in his room.

Sitting bolt upright in his bed, Stygian's eyes were wide as they tried desperately to soak in any bit of light they could to see with. Desperately he willed his horn to light, but in his fright he could not muster the concentration to ignite any magic.

He heard the noise, soft and fleeting, but repeating. It was there. It was also moving. Every instance of a rustle or a flutter was faint, but each time it came from somewhere new. Even above. Stygian pulled his woolen blanket up over his muzzle, peeking through the dark muted blue bangs of his bowl cut mane, wishing for an answer, picturing any number of shadowy pony figures or demonic beasts coming to harm him and circling him like prey. Or worse, they would make him one of their own.

Then he heard a soft whisper of air against his ear. No words, but a guided gust and the softest brush against his fur. In an instant, the thin grey colt had jolted from the bed, crying out in panic and scrambling his limbs all at once as he rushed to get away.

In his frenzy, the poor panicked colt ended up with all four legs tangled in his blanket and he slipped sideways, fumbling his shoulder into the wooden nightstand beside the bed as they both collapsed hard onto the floor. The contents of the cubby underneath the stand's drawer, which had also spilled, scattered across the floor. Stygian's eyes were shut tight as he grimaced through the discomfort of his fall, but he was uninjured. Then as he slid to a stop, he felt his muzzle bump gently into a familiar object and his expression opened into stun.

He'd had his nose in enough of them to recognize it. It was a book! Specifically, it was the encyclopedia he kept by his bedside for light reading on a lazy day.

Suddenly, and he didn't know immediately why, but Stygian felt comforted. In a hurry he'd untangled himself from his bedclothes and picked up that encyclopedia, hugging it to him close. And then it occurred to him.

Books. Knowledge. Knowledge was preparation. Preparation was comfort. With knowledge, you could be prepared to confront anything with a confidently eased mind, and therefore knowledge was power.

Finding courage in his realization, Stygian took a deep breath and cracked open the book, finally finding it in himself to light a sphere of magic atop his horn, albeit a small one. Without delay, a growing sense of determination apparent on his face, Stygian hunted for a certain page.

"Darkness..." his soft, lilting voice whispered when he found it, "An absence of light in part or in whole. It is a condition in which vision becomes increasingly difficult the greater it is, because the pony eye is not capable of perceiving color without sufficient illumination."

His voice became steadier and more confident as he went. "Complete darkness of the sky is considered to be when the sun has descended eighteen degrees past the horizon, at which point twilight has transitioned into full night."

Standing, Stygian mustered a determined smile and glared into the depths of his darkened bedroom as he was gratefully reminded of cold, hard facts, courtesy of the book in his hoof. "You hear that, darkness? You're a time of day! You're a mere condition! You're completely harmless! Normal light particles can't hurt anypony! Or...lack of them!" No doubt his ears were just picking up some minor sound from the cottage, amplifying it through the stress of worry.

But then, as he was standing there with his book, feeling accomplished and like he'd finally overcome the encompassing blackness, something happened that startled Stygian all over again.

He began floating.

Eyes widening, the small colt looked down as he indeed felt suddenly like he weighed nearly nothing, a different light that was not his own magic beginning to swirl around him. But it didn't feel hostile. All Stygian could do was let his mouth dangle slightly ajar as he watched himself and his book experience this short moment of levitation accompanied by magical gust of wind.

Indeed, as quickly as it had begun, Stygian felt himself set back down onto the floorboards, a new tingling sensation resonating on his flank. Naturally, he had to inspect it, so he peeled back the long nightshirt covering his rump and aimed a new light spell at the spot.

It was true.

In the moment, Stygian had only been able to venture a guess, but now it was confirmed clear as could be: he'd just earned his cutie mark.

The magical marking symbol was simple. It was the image of a black, shadowy flame. Foreboding at a glance, but somehow Stygian felt connected to it nonetheless. He felt like he understood.

This cutie mark represented everything he was. He was Stygian. He was the blackest of the dark. He had overcome his fear of his namesake, and so come to terms with himself. That fire represented the bravery that he had managed to find despite his lack of general ability.

Curiously, as he recalled the dark, a thought did come to him and he put a bit more oomph into his horn, brightening the spell and looking around to see if he could find the source of what had brushed him.

He did find it, and he smiled, unable to help some amusement at himself.

It was a moth. A simple, gentle moth that had found its way in and gotten lost.

Well, that was as sure a sign as any to Stygian that keeping the facts in mind would guide him through anything. So, righting his nightstand, the gentle colt got himself back into bed, keeping the encyclopedia in his forelegs but feeling that with it by his side, he would be ready to sleep.

He might not be completely ready to stand fearless against the inky shadows, and he might need a reminder from that book now and again, but that new mark on his flank also gave him the confidence that he was definitely on the right path. It was assurance that his faith in and connection to his books was all he needed to carry on through his future.

It was a sign that he would one day conquer the darkness.


End file.
